Skip to content

Jesslyn Mueller

author ● sojourner ● mother artist

  • About
  • Books
    • Journey: Advent for Sojourners
      • Journey Extras
    • The Sea & All Its Stars
    • The Haunting of Magnolia Woods
  • Newsletter
Write Like It’s Your Job 2021
On Writing

Write Like It’s Your Job 2021

JessicaJanuary 22, 2021January 15, 2021

I’ve heard it said goals are best achieved when they’re things you’re already doing. IContinue reading

Share
The Sea & all Its Stars: Revisions Update
On Writing

The Sea & all Its Stars: Revisions Update

JessicaJanuary 20, 2021January 15, 2021

In March 2021, it’ll be five years since I wrote my first “What if…” ponderingContinue reading

Share
5 Tips for Fighting Writing Fear
On Writing

5 Tips for Fighting Writing Fear

JessicaJanuary 18, 2021January 15, 2021

Every writer deals with fear. It’s a normal part of the life of a writer.Continue reading

Share
2020 Reading Wrapped
On Writing

2020 Reading Wrapped

JessicaJanuary 15, 2021January 15, 2021

It’s no surprise that I love books. Each year, I set a goal to readContinue reading

Share
Writing Lessons Learned in 2020
On Writing

Writing Lessons Learned in 2020

JessicaJanuary 6, 2021January 4, 2021

I set out for 2020 to be the year I write like it’s my job.Continue reading

Share

Posts navigation

< 1 2 3 … 36 >

Recent Posts

  • Building a Writing Practice that Works for You
  • WIP: Diving into “The Little Mermaid”
  • Dear Writer, Don’t Despise Slow

jesslyn.mueller

Jessica
“The world’s too big, Mom.” “Then make it “The world’s too big, Mom.” “Then make it smaller.” - Man of Steel This quote has been rolling around my head for over a week now: make it smaller. With the rush of end of the year activities (mostly done), my husband out of town for 2 weeks (he’s back now), and the end of the year school organization (and prep for next year) along with all the world events and extended family health concerns, I’m tapped out and tired. I don’t have to rush now, so I won’t. My well needs refilling and my mind a bit of recalibrating. So I’m making my world smaller for a little while and stepping back from places online and local, saying “no” more, and letting the empty spaces on our calendar stay empty for a little while. I have no secret plans to finish any work in progress during this hiatus. I don’t even have any goals to write at all. I’ve been listening to @makersandmystics series on mental health and the artist and making syrups from flowers in my garden. I’ll be putting therapy back on my calendar, sleeping more, and taking hikes like medicine. And, of course, reading. I’ll miss your poems and stories, your a-ha! moments and memes, and gushing over books. See you in mid-June!
What would I tell myself a year ago? The flowers What would I tell myself a year ago? The flowers will bloom again. Some things will be harder and others will get easier. Some will leave you confused + frustrated, others will leave you feeling full of joy + wonder. Your healing will spiral. Some days will feel like you’ve lost all growth. You haven’t. All is not lost. You will be alright. You’ll want to pick one side or the other, but you’ll still be in between, in the gray.Sometimes that will feel like being trapped + other times a blessing, either way you’ll feel restless. You’ll have to make your life smaller to make it more manageable and breathable. Say no more. It will still hurt to know that people don’t like you and disagree with you without even being willing to listen. That will still be painful, but…you’ll still stand by your beliefs, convictions, & experiences even when it’d be easier not to. You’ll read a lot of good books. You’ll care less about some things and still worry more about others. There’ll be much joy in writing. The words and ideas will come, but you should pause now and stop putting so much pressure to be productive and cross the finish line. No matter what group you find yourself in you’ll always be a little bit on the outside. You always have been (hello, you named a blog The Reluctant Sojourner for a reason), so maybe it’s time to stop thinking that will change and learn to live in the in-between. Be a border stalker. You’ll have a kid who’ll be taller than you. You’ll find an ally in him…who will still occasionally push your buttons. Don’t wait to create until your to do list is done. You’ll be too tired + depleted to do anything. // A little behind on #onedaymay camping and the cleanup kinda took it out of me.
Who else pairs their books with their vacation? 🏖 Walking on Water - a reread that I feel my soul and creative spirit needs. Part of Your World - I preordered this because I devoured all of Abby Jimenez’s books in one week last summer and then realized I had to wait a year for the next one. Not sure if there’s beach vibes, but the title is giving me Ariel vibes. Skin of the Sea - A Little Mermaid retelling I’m finally ready to read. When it was published, I read the description and nearly cried. It was so much like the book I had just began querying (the book I’m going to be editing…again…in May). 📚 What are you reading? . #onedaymay #currentlyreading #beachbooks #bookstacks #booksaremagic #writersread
“This month I will…” This month I will exam “This month I will…” This month I will examine why “I have to…,” “Because it’s expected of me…,” and “I’m supposed to…” are regular parts of my vocabulary. This month I will give myself permission to rest and write and do what fills me up before completing everything on my to do list. This month I will let my imagination, hope, and wonder wander. This month I will renew my pillars of rhythms and rest. 🌱What about you? Prompt: “This month I will…” with @laura.tremaine #onedaymay . #writerslife #writinglife
TW: infant and miscarriage loss, grieving The Una TW: infant and miscarriage loss, grieving The Unacknowledged Griefs of Miscarriage as they came to me this morning. • The anger and betrayal you feel toward your own body. • • The fact that losses that are more visual (late term, stillborn, etc) are considered harder, more acknowledged, receive more support while under 20 week losses are considered not that big of a deal (even in Christian communities, especially in…) • How sex becomes something to fear, because it could just start another cycle of loss. • Meeting someone and showing unexpected emotional displays because they have the same name as one of the children you lost. • Periods become a violent monthly reminder of losing your child. Of both the physical process of loss and the fact that you’re not pregnant. • Realizing you will always carry this grief deeper than anyone else, even your husband, because it’s your body that carried them. • The months and years grieving takes from your daily life that very few ever see because your loss was “small” (the months my kids survived on eggs and goldfish). Or even if it wasn’t “small,” your pregnancy/child/grieving was still an inconvenience to others. • The fact that you’re still expected to function and interact normally. You may get 6 weeks to 3 months (shorter if it’s a miscarriage) • Anger, so much repressed anger. • How your body remembers the dates and seasons even when you do not and your realize just how much the body keeps score. • The questions kids ask or how they’ll causally bring up babies when you least expect it catching you off guard. • Buying remembrance necklaces becomes costly. $30 for an initial charm doesn’t sound too bad until you multiply it by 7 and then add in the actual necklace plus shipping. • The loneliness. continued in comments ⬇️
April photo dump 📷 Hope you're enjoying the la April photo dump 📷 Hope you're enjoying the last Saturday/day of April! It went by fast. 😳 Tomorrow's May Day/Beltane. 🌸 We'll probably gather flowers, read some folklore, and lay in the sun. You? 1 - Violet Tea 2 - Nature Nerds (aka moms) in the wild 3 - Flowery Rooftop bar in NYC 4 - Proving I'm the least cool (or least best dressed) of my siblings 5 - Plant babies growing 6 - Easter 7 - Azaleas in bloom 8 - all the lists! 9 - the cat 10 - yard clippings before they died
My eyes flitted to Henry’s. His breath, or mine, My eyes flitted to Henry’s. His breath, or mine, I could not tell, hitched. My heart pounded in my chest, I felt a bird caged under a cat’s predatory eye. My eyes begged, implored him, to save or distract. I gripped the empty tray, pushing its metal edge into my stomach.⁠ ⁠ The voices at the table blurred together in a mix of English and German.⁠ ⁠ “Who is she?”⁠ ⁠ “The poor dear.”⁠ ⁠ “Mother, please, let us speak of something else.”⁠ ⁠ “Oh, Henry,” she waved her hand at him as if the things she spoke of were no more than a passing comment on the breeze, a pair of new gloves or a bottle of imported wine. “We can’t hide our past. It is true, is it not?”⁠ ⁠ Their words flooded my senses, I was drowning. My chest heaved in spasms. I spied the door, my only exit, but what would that do for me? I’d only have to return. If I exchanged places with Ms. Boyton then Mistress Resier would not only be displeased, but know how deeply her words cut me. I could not, I would not let her know how she cut my scars with her tongue.⁠ ⁠ I raised my head to find her watching me, daring me to contradict her, to not answer. I straightened my shoulders, gathering measure of my mother’s resolve.⁠ ⁠ “Yes, m’am,” I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands shook, betraying any attempt to conceal how she rattled me.⁠ // A bit of backstory: This is from one of Sophia's earlier chapters. One of the first times she sees Henry since coming to the colony. But...there's been a bit of change in her station. Once a lady of society, now a servant. Her mother and Mrs. Reiser (Henry's mother) were long time rivals. ⁠ #wipwednesday #storysnippet #onelinewednesday #writerslife #writersjourney #authorsofinstagram #thehauntingofmagnoliawoods
For the #posttopoet art-inspired prompt⁠ I went For the #posttopoet art-inspired prompt⁠ I went with a mini-story inspired by the painting The Crystal Ball by John William Waterhouse⁠. I almost forgot to post it, because I got distracted with the Superman content in my stories. 😂 I’m rewatching the Christopher Reeve Superman movie with my kids to prep them for Man of Steel. I feel like they needed an older, classic version before getting an updated version. ⁠ ⁠ ⁠ #poetrymonth⁠ #nationalpoetrymonth #poetrycollection #poetrywriting #voicesofpoets #poetryinspiration
I live in a state of stress. I’d call it my old I live in a state of stress. I’d call it my old friend, but it’s not the least bit friendly. We’re tolerable companions, a marriage of necessity turned stale. It’s balled in my chest even now. The muscles around my heart tighten. The pitter patter picks up until the ficus turns its head. “What?” I hear the girls talking on the other side of the door. I lean my head against it and take a deep breath. How many times did this scene play out when they were young? Me hiding, waiting until I could gather myself. Waiting until I pulled enough energy from my reserves to go back out there with a smile on my face or, if not a smile, at least without an explosion of tempers that would levitate the house and poison the roots. Their bickering always gets me. What could I have planted to sow peace between them? At least now they’re no longer pulling up each other’s gardens and mixing seed jars. Instead, they just speak in stilted words, their pain coming out in hesitant, staccato statements with an occasional thorn. Each believing the other got the better deal. One free and loved, the other trusted and loyal. They don’t have to say it. I see it in their eyes. How can they not see they need each other? They will not make it through the years without each other. The house, the night garden, this family’s existence depends on them. And I, I can do nothing to prepare them any more. They are no longer little girls with pigtails. A little flower magic won’t mend their wounds. They know the weight of it now. Their voices turn up, something is slammed on the counter. I take a deep breath and turn the knob. “Hello, my girls,” I smile and look up to see seeds and water droplets float above Marigold and Poppy’s heads. // #flashfictionmagic Prompt: Memoir /This one was hard. I wasn’t sure whether to go with nonfiction memoir or fictional. I went with a mix of both—Lark’s perspective, the old familiar anxiety, and a mother’s worries. 📸: bruno emmanuelle via unsplash #shortfiction #flashfictionfriday #flashfiction #momswhowrite #writingcommunity #writingcommunityofinstagram
Load More... Follow on Instagram
Proudly powered by WordPress | Theme: Elfie by elfWP.